


On The Same Page

by Salmon_Pink



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Disney Animated Fandoms, Tangled (2010)
Genre: Bondage, Community: disney_kink, Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-21
Updated: 2012-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-10 10:46:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmon_Pink/pseuds/Salmon_Pink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flynn needs a book, Belle sets the price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Same Page

**Author's Note:**

> Set before both _Tangled_ and _Beauty And The Beast_. Written for the [Disney Kink Meme](http://disney-kink.livejournal.com), [prompt](http://disney-kink.livejournal.com/361.html?thread=2180969#t2180969) "Flynn/Belle, Flynn breaks into Belle and Maurice's house and attempts to steal her copy of "The Adventures of Flynnigan Rider." Belle is tricky and won't let him have it...unless he pays her a sexual favor".

Flynn hasn’t been a thief for long. Technically, he hasn’t been _Flynn_ for long, although he’s getting better at not mentally referring to himself as Eugene. Okay, so he’s still finding his feet when it comes to crime. That’s fine, everyone has to start somewhere. And there are certain difficulties he’s been anticipating since he started planning his future back at the orphanage, like guards and security and mobs and devastatingly attractive women who plan to charm him into bed so they can rob him of his latest score.

Unfortunately, _this_ is a difficulty he never planned for.

Flynn Rider is smart, strong, quick, charming, incredibly good-looking if he does say so himself, and an all-round excellent thief.

An excellent thief who can’t actually find anything to steal.

Flynn has standards. He also has a reputation to think about. So stealing trinkets from random villagers isn’t his style at all. He needs a bigger target, something flashier, something that will gain him a name and a nice starting point for his future personal fortune in one hit.

He should have known there was something weird about this whole thing when his contact told him there _used_ to be a beautiful white castle in the area. 

But Flynn hasn’t had much luck making contacts, what with that whole just-starting-out, no-real-reputation-yet thing, so he figured it was worth a shot.

It wasn’t.

There’s no beautiful white castle. There’s just a lot of eerily spooky woods and the poor, provincial town he’s found himself in. 

Nobody even notices him as he slumps down on the wall of the small fountain in the town square. People bustle around him in the type of stupor that’s bred from familiarity and routine. It’s the kind of place where Flynn could burst into song (not that he does that sort of thing) and nobody would even bat an eyelid at the strangeness of it, too caught up in their own blank, monotonous lives. 

Flynn is getting bored. Eugene is getting antsy. And when the Eugene-voice starts to make itself heard, Flynn knows he’s having an off-day.

So there’s only one thing for it, and that one thing happens to be a book. _The Tales Of Flynnigan Rider_. Guaranteed to remind Flynn of just why he’s doing this, running around the countryside looking for phantom castles. Guaranteed to remind him just how much better life will be when he can afford his own island.

He stands, throws a wink at the three blonde girls who are gossiping nearby, and goes hunting for a bookshop.

*

The bookshop owner is a squat little man with thick glasses and a kindly smile. 

For a moment, Flynn actually considers dipping into his pocket and buying the book outright, rather than stealing it.

The moment passes when the owner informs him that the only copy of the book is currently on loan.

“On loan? Wait, is this a bookstore or a library?” 

The owner gives a small shrug. “A little of both, I suppose,” he admits. “My main customer would probably buy up my entire stock if I didn’t loan the books out.”

“So you’re willing to lose money over that?” Flynn snorts, idly nudging the ladder with his foot so it rolls along the shelves. Apparently nobody ever taught this guy how business is supposed to work.

“Honestly, I prefer the companionship to the profits,” the owner sighs with an affectionate grin. “Not many people visit me here.”

Flynn fights the urge to gag. 

“Okay, sure, that’s, uh, that’s just _lovely_ ,” he says in what he hopes is an understanding and compassionate tone. He pulls out his most trustworthy expression for good measure. “You wouldn’t be able to tell me where this customer is, would you?”

*

Well, at least the cottage is easier to find than the vanishing castle. Right on the outskirts of town, separated from everything else by a stream and a small bridge, which suits Flynn just fine. Less people around to see him casually skirt the building and head for the back door.

It’s not even locked. 

He lets himself in, applying pressure to the door just beside the hinges to keep them from squeaking as he eases it open. The house is silent, but Flynn does a cursory check for the usual signs of life just in case. The fireplace is devoid of flames, there’s no freshly prepared or half-eaten food, no shoes kicked off beside the doorway. Nothing.

He notices a wooden folding table, stood between a small dining chair and a comfier-looking rocking chair. The table is littered with what looks like blueprints, and there in the centre is a small stack of books, just waiting for Flynn to dig through.

It’s all embarrassingly easy, really.

Or at least it is, right up until Flynn reaches for the first book on the pile. 

The blow to the back of the head startles him enough that he staggers forwards, upsetting the table. Books tumble to the ground, and there, right at his feet, is the elusive copy of _The Tales Of Flynnigan Rider_.

Which is a shame, because it’s the smaller softback edition, and it probably wouldn’t do much damage if he were being assaulted by that. Instead he gets a glimpse at what looks like an extremely large hardcover encyclopedia as it swings down towards his head a second time, and then everything goes rather black.

*

The first thing Flynn does when he comes to is try to lift his hand to rub his aching head. The second thing he does is make a slightly undignified noise and snap his eyes open. Mostly because the first thing proves impossible with his hands tied up the way they are.

His gaze darts around the room quickly, trying to get his bearings. Folding table. Blueprints. Rocking chair. Smoking hot brunette. Pile of books.

Wait. 

She’s standing in the doorway, frowning at him, but she doesn’t look especially angry. More curious (with maybe just a pinch of exasperation) and she’s cradling to her chest the biggest encyclopedia Flynn has ever seen. 

He kind of wants to glare at it, but that seems a little ridiculous. Especially with that smoking hot brunette just _demanding_ his attention.

“Now, that was just unnecessary,” Flynn says and sets his smile to admonishing yet playful. “Honestly, do you attack _every_ lost soul who comes to you looking for directions?”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “No, but I do tend to be more …rambunctious with people who break into my home.” Her voice is warm and rich and there’s just the barest hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. Flynn can’t quite decide if the day is a total failure or the greatest thing that ever happened to him.

“Breaking into your home? Me?” he blusters, widening his eyes and trying to will a halo into existence. “I was simply looking for-”

“Directions,” she interrupts knowingly, shifting the book in her arms. It’s probably more to do with the book’s weight than an attempt at being menacing, but Flynn still has to fight the urge to flinch. “That’s why you chose not to knock?”

“Oh, I’m quite sure I did,” Flynn shrugs, as much as he’s able with his wrists bound to the arms of the dining chair.

“That’s why you came all the way here from the village full of people?” 

“Well, they weren’t being helpful and I thought-”

“That’s why you took the time to make sure the door would open silently?”

Flynn’s mouth opens, then closes with an audible click. “Where the hell were you watching me from?” he mutters, eyes following her as she moves across the room to place the encyclopedia on to the table. He clears his throat, tries a different tack. “You know, this is all just a terrible misunderstanding, Miss…”

“Belle,” she supplies, her back to him as she rearranges the books on the table. “And your name?”

He could lie, of course, but giving a fake name every time he runs into trouble isn’t going to help him build his reputation any faster. “Rider,” he replies, letting a touch of arrogance seep into his voice. “Flynn Rider.”

“Hmm, is that so?” Belle murmurs, turning back to him, and she’s holding the copy of _The Tales Of Flynnigan Rider_ and if her face wasn’t so angelic he’s pretty sure that smile would count as a smirk. 

Of _course_ she recognises the name if she’s read the damn thing, and Flynn decides to blame the blows to the head for him making such an embarrassing mistake. He still draws himself up a little in the chair, attempting some semblance of dignity. “Yes, that _is_ so.” 

Oh yeah, that’s definitely a smirk.

Flynn sighs and fixes her with a level stare. “Look, I’m not here to hurt you or anyone else in your boring little village, okay,” he insists. “And, yes, sure, I wasn’t looking for directions, I was looking for that book. The bookstore guy said you had it.”

She raises that single eyebrow again, lips pursed a little, but her eyes are practically _dancing_. She’s totally enjoying watching him squirm, and maybe Flynn would be angry about that if she wasn’t so ridiculously attractive. 

“Seriously, what’s it going to take for you to let me go?” Because if she was going to contact the local law enforcement, she surely would have done so already. If she’d called for them while Flynn was out cold, he’d already have been hauled to the nearest cell.

Belle turns the book in her hands, so he can see the cover more clearly. “I suppose that’s up to you, Mr Rider.” Her voice is silky smooth and Flynn could probably listen to it all day. “Why, I suppose you could take a leaf out of this book. Perhaps a sneaky escape, like in chapter three?”

“As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I _don’t_ actually have a knife up my sleeve,” Flynn deadpans, nodding down towards his arms where the sleeves are securely rolled up over his elbows, which means there’s no way he can reach them with his wrists tied down.

“Oh, what a pity,” she smiles, placing the book back on the table. “What about a daring distraction, such as, say, the one in chapter nine?”

Flynn snorts. “Do I _look_ like I have a trained monkey handy?”

Belle plucks a cushion from the rocking chair and casually brushes her hand over it. “Perhaps a more unorthodox method would be effective. For instance, you could take inspiration from chapter seven.”

Flynn rolls his eyes. “I don’t think you-” 

And then his brain catches up with him.

Oh. _Oh_.

Belle tosses the cushion over Flynn’s head with a flick of her wrist, and her smile is small and secret and makes all the blood in Flynn’s body make a rapid detour south.

“I, uh, I suppose I could try that,” he agrees carefully, watching the way she idly straightens the blueprints on the table. He licks his lips, not in an attempt to be seductive but because his mouth suddenly feels painfully dry. “If, that is, you-”

“I really do think it’s the only course of action available to you at this juncture,” Belle says solemnly and now her eyes are _sparkling_. 

“Well, if you think so,” Flynn nods, trying not to grin too broadly. Chapter seven always _was_ his favourite. 

He looks to her, lets heat creep into his gaze. More than happy to play the role she’s asking of him. “I would be willing to do anything, _anything_ , you ask, beautiful maiden, if you would release me from these binds,” he quotes. 

His hips shift slightly and her eyes drop to his lap before rising to meet his stare once more. “Of course,” she croons. “But that,” she nods towards his groin, “isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

For a moment Flynn’s a little confused, because he knows _The Tales Of Flynnigan Rider_ back to front and sideways to boot, and so he’s absolutely certain chapter seven is where Flynn offers himself to the gorgeous villainess in order to escape certain death. 

And then Belle’s foot is pressing against the edge of the chair seat between Flynn’s knees and all it takes is a gentle nudge to have Flynn falling backwards. He winces, bracing himself for the impact of his head connecting with the very solid floor, but instead it lands on the perfectly placed cushion she’d thrown behind him.

For a moment he can’t see her, can only hear the rustle of fabric, and then she moves around the fallen chair and back into his line of vision.

“I believe,” she purrs, one long leg stepping over his chest, “that you and I may have interpreted the events of chapter seven a little differently.”

Flynn can only stare up at her as elegant hands lift her skirt until the hem falls midway up her thighs. “And since I’m not the one tied to a chair, I think it only fitting that it be my interpretation that we follow.”

Belle allows her legs to fold gracefully, knees just above and either side of Flynn’s head, and the last thing he glimpses is a knowing and sultry smile before the material of her skirt falls over his face.

*

So, he may not have found a beautiful white castle to plunder, but the day hasn’t been a monumental loss. Flynn is feeling great about himself, and the Eugene-voice is content enough to stay blessedly quiet.

Oh yeah, he’s pretty awesome.

Okay, so he’s sprawled in the undergrowth of the woods, breeches shoved down around his knees and hand working between his legs, trying to bite down on every grunt that wants to force itself past his lips. Not exactly fitting of the glamorous life he’d imagined for himself, but he doesn’t think he can really be blamed.

God, he can still _taste_ her, will probably be able to taste her for the rest of the day. Which means he’s probably going to be hard for the rest of the day, never mind that this is already the second time he’s taken himself in hand since leaving the village.

Not that he actually remembers stumbling back through the village, punch-drunk and floating in a dream world where his life was perfect, because even if he couldn’t find anything to steal, he still had a smoking hot brunette groaning for the roll of his tongue.

Flynn’s always had a thing for brunettes.

True, maybe it’s a little embarrassing that he let her untie him and shoo him from her home with nothing more than an affectionate smile, let alone an offer to return the favour. He’d been somewhat distracted by the way his mind kept replaying all the noises she’d made, breathy little sighs and soft, earnest moans.

And maybe he is a little pissed at himself for not thinking to steal the damn book while he had the chance.

But there’ll be other towns and other copies of _The Tales Of Flynnigan Rider_. 

Maybe there’ll even be other girls like Belle, and that’s the thought that has him spilling into his hand, heels digging into the dirt and a smile on his lips.


End file.
